


The Last Gift She Gave Me

by Bluehaven4220



Series: Benny and June: Not Like the Movies [5]
Category: due South
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Moving On, saying goodbye is difficult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluehaven4220/pseuds/Bluehaven4220
Summary: Benton Fraser has fallen in love with Ray Kowalski, and has finally had a chance to tell his daughter about it. Despite having been a widower for over twenty years, he still feels like he should be asking for June’s permission to move on.In the same universe as "The Water's Edge and the Harbour Town", "Comes and Goes in Waves", "The Wishing Doll", "Moving Clocks Run Slow", and "Can't Seem to Find the Angels for the Devils".





	The Last Gift She Gave Me

**Author's Note:**

> It might be a good idea to have tissues handy while you read this. They are available from the table in the corner.
> 
> Currently unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

It’s strange, the things you think you remember from childhood. Then again, I suppose my memories were as convoluted or as reconstructed as anyone else’s, but in the end, I knew growing up that my childhood was anything but conventional. I didn’t know very many children who were being raised by their grandparents, or whose grandparents were librarians, or anyone else who had a father who was gone from one end of the year to the other. Since we moved constantly, the friends I _did_ make were few and far between, until we moved to Fort Norman when I was twelve. It was there that I met Innusiq, and his sister, June. I had no idea, when I’d first met them, that we’d be tied together forever, but what twelve year old’s promise of ‘forever’ holds any weight as they age?

Then again, at the age of sixteen I said the words ‘till death us do part’. It was the most important sentence of my life. And I said it to June.

I lost her almost seven months later, the day my daughter Abigail was born.

Strange as it is to admit, I never grieved June for myself. I grieved her loss for Abigail, at least I thought I did. For years, I felt guilty for the part I thought I’d played in her death (even though I understood her death was a terrible accident that I couldn't have prevented), and for Abigail having to grow up without a mother. I’d never married again, instead choosing to devote myself to being a good father, and to my career as an RCMP officer.

But now that Abigail is twenty-one, and grown into a very intelligent, independent young woman, she’s more than capable of handling this news with grace and dignity. When Ray and I sat her down, we hadn’t actually needed to say anything. She’d given herself three guesses, and had guessed correctly on her third try. It turned out that she wasn’t really bothered by it, in fact, she was happy for me.

But even still, I felt like I should be asking for June’s permission. Perhaps Abigail was right; if June chose to answer me, she’d probably tell me that I don’t need to ask.

I still felt like I should ask, anyway.

ooOoo

_I walked around a campfire, same as I did years before. It’s strange. I could see the fire burning away, but I couldn’t feel its heat. There was someone sitting on a log in front of it, watching and tending the flames, feeding it every so often. It was dark, so I couldn’t quite see who it was._

_Until I got closer._

_It was June. She looked exactly the same as she did twenty-one years ago, wearing the sweater and jeans from when the picture I had on the table by the couch had been taken, her long hair cascading down her back. Luckily, Ray didn’t mind that I kept a photo of her in the living room. He knew that I would always love June, as she was my wife and Abigail’s mother, and the picture was there because Abigail had asked for it to be displayed when we first moved into our apartment nine years before._

_I walked to her and silently sat down beside her, where she turned her head, gently put her hand on my knee and squeezed._

_“Hello Ben,” she greeted me as she always did when she was alive. She’d been the only person aside from Tom Quinn to ever call me Ben before Ray had started doing so. To my grandparents, I was always Benton. To Innusiq, and later Ray Vecchio, I was Benny, and to Ray Kowalski, before we were lovers, Fraser. To hear her say my name that way wrenched my heart. “I’d like to say I’m surprised to see you, but I’m really not.”_

_“You’re not?”_

_“No,” she admitted, moving to grab my hand. “I knew that telling Abby about you and Ray would be difficult, and that I might be needed.”_

_“You know about Ray and I?” In dreams, it seemed I’d lost the ability to understand such things._

_“I’m not blind, Ben,” she smiled, brought my hand to her lips and kissed it. “You’ve had many chances to find love again, and you chose not to, out of respect for me, I know that. But Ray Kowalski… he’s someone special, Ben, and you’d be a fool to feel guilty about it, or to let him go.”_

_I cupped her cheek. Her skin was still soft. “You’re not upset about…”_

_“About?” she prompted._

_I let my hand fall away and hung my head._

_“About you finding love again? Of course not, how could I be upset about that?” she put her hand under my chin and made me look her in the eyes. Good Lord, I swear she could look right into me and see my soul, even the part I kept tucked away. “You’re a good man, Benton Fraser, and a wonderful father to our daughter. But she’s grown up now, you’ve done your duty.You deserve to find happiness again.”_

_“Do I?” At that moment I was sure I sounded as though I were sixteen again._

_“Yes you do,” she insisted as she leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “It’s okay for you to move on. I release you.“_

_I pulled her forward and hug her tightly. And somehow I knew this could be the last time I ever saw her, and the last time to tell her the truth as I knew and understood it._

_“I love you, June Amaruq- Fraser.”_

_“And I you, Ben,” she whispered as she pulled away from me. “I always have. I always will.”_

_I kissed her forehead, and sighed. Hands still entwined, we sat together and watched the fire crackle until the sun came up._       

ooOoo

I wake up the next morning and taste salt on my cheeks. I turn over to find Ray’s side of the bed empty, but I hear both his and Abby’s voices coming from the kitchen. Have I really slept so late?

I sit up and run my hand down my face, willing myself to wake up. Once I do, I swing my legs over and stand up, making my way to the bathroom. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I go out to the living room.

The picture of June and I by the campfire is still on the table beside the couch. I pick it up and study it for a few moments, as though committing our smiles in that photograph to memory. Not that I really need to do that, though. Abigail has June’s smile.   

“Good morning Dad,” I hear Abby greet me as she gets up from the table, her coffee cup abandoned. “You look deep in thought.”

I can tell from her expression that the smile I give her is pained, and I feel tears starting.

“I dreamt about your mother last night.” This time I don’t switch to Inuktitut, as Ray, who is standing behind the couch to give Abby and I space, deserves to hear this too. “She gave me permission, Abigail. She released me.”

Abby gasps, her hand covering her mouth.

“And I thought…” I gulped, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I thought you’d like to keep the photo with you. In your room, or…” I pause, trying desperate to hold myself together. “Or take it with you when you go back to school.” My hands shake as I hold it out to her.

She accepts it, her own tears threatening to spill over. Hugging it to her chest, she moves to take it to her room.

“Hold on, one more thing…” I reach behind my neck and try to undo the clasp on the chain, but my hands are shaking so badly it's impossible. “Ray, could you…”

Ray seems to understand just how important this is to both Abby and I, and only nods as he comes around the couch and walks behind me, taking up the task that I am presently incapable of doing. Silently, he opens the clasp, and takes the chain that holds June’s wedding ring off my neck. He stands in front of me and does it back up, then lets the necklace pool into my outstretched palm.

Both Abby and I are starting to lose our composure as I hand her the necklace. She closes her fingers around it and lets out a single sob. After that, she cups my one cheek and kisses the other.

“I need a few minutes alone,” she whispers. I nod as she turns and disappears into her bedroom, closing the door after Dief rushes in behind her.

Wordlessly, I turn to Ray. I hold up my left hand, making sure he’s watching what I’m doing.

“A wedding ring on the left hand is meant to connect two hearts together,” I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as I gradually twist the ring I’ve worn for twenty years off my finger and let it lay in my palm. “But if someone is widowed, and they choose to keep wearing their ring, it generally moves to the other hand.”

Ray steadies my shaking hand and guides my movements, still silent as I slide the gold band onto my right ring finger.  

Then, because I’m sure he can see how desperately I need it, he pulls me into a tight hug and kisses the corner of my eye.

He catches me as I sink to the floor and bury my face against his shoulder, trying to stop myself from hyperventilating, my mind trying to comprehend what has just happened.

And then, as my breathing stabilizes and he continues to hold me, I realize something.

June has released me into the arms of a man who loves me and my daughter fiercely, who is willing to let me fall apart and then wait for me to let him pick up the pieces and stick them back together, but most importantly, she has released me to help me realize that I do indeed deserve the happiness and love Ray Kowalski offers.     

“I love you,” I whisper to both of them.

Ray just holds me tighter. “I know, Ben.”

And for now, it’s all I need.


End file.
